


good god, i'm easily bruised

by crownedcarl



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (MORE LIKE OVERTONES GUYS LMAO), Bloodplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Facial Shaving, Humiliation, M/M, Masochism, Objectification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Power Play, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rough Sex, Strength Kink, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: Men like Rick can survive pain. Negan has to go down another path to get what he wants.





	good god, i'm easily bruised

**Author's Note:**

> yooo! the long-awaited shaving kink is here, now with ... 70% less shaving kink than intended. oops?
> 
> anyway, a couple of things to note: take the tags seriously if any of them squick you out or run the risk of triggering you, because this is not a fluffy fic. i've been working on this for a while and as usual, it got away from my original vision because oops, again!
> 
> the title's from an audience with the pope by elbow; see if you can spot the richard siken line i incorporated into this fic if you want to make me happy! i'll add the quote in the author's note at the end. until then, enjoy!

Rick’s hands have a tendency to flutter; to graze the back of the neck without touching down, his fingers delicately brushing skin before changing trajectory and returning to his sides, curled loosely into fists as his nails dig the slightest bit into his weathered palms. Negan has seen the marks on more than one occasion and wondered, briefly, if maybe Rick thinks he deserves the pain.

As things stand, those scarred hands are fisted in Negan’s leather jacket, hauling him back from the crumbling edge of a steep staircase. “Watch your step,” Rick hisses, the response likely out of his mouth before he realizes who he’s telling to stay safe. It must be reflex, bred from years of looking after his people, and with his fingers still keeping Negan from teetering three stories down, Negan sees a look in Rick’s eyes that tells him he’s considering letting go.

He knows what a caved-in skull looks like. It would be plausible, Negan falling all on his own, with no assistance from Rick, but those thoughts are idle fantasies, and both of them know it. He gains nothing by letting Negan fall, and it must kill Rick, having to keep him alive and in one piece when Negan’s the cause of all his suffering.

Negan’s mind wanders back to Rick’s hands, though. Negan has seen him cradle Judith in those hands. He’s seen him strangle the breath out of men twice his size with those hands; he is intimately familiar with Rick’s capacity for violence, and the abundance of gentleness he can offer in spite of it. He’s an enigma, and Negan is getting nowhere in his efforts to figure Rick out.

His hands let go of Negan at last, once he’s backed up a step and is standing steadily. Glancing down, Negan surmises that if the fall hadn’t killed him, it likely would’ve broken a bone or two, at the very least, or the shuffling walkers down below would’ve taken care of whatever was left of him. “Careful now, Rick,” he grins, clapping Rick on the back with more force than necessary, making Rick sway forward, towards the abyss. “Or you might make me think you actually like me.”

Rick being forced into swallowing his pride is a beautiful sight. Negan drinks it in.

-

Rick fractures his wrist later that day, pulling Negan back from the edge of danger for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

He isn’t usually reckless, can’t afford to be, but an animal impulse has been telling him to push Rick’s limits, to see how far he’ll go to ensure Negan’s safety, and the results haven’t been disappointing. Rick fumes, and he grits his jaw, but every time that Negan steps into a sticky situation, Rick is at his back to get him out unscathed. It infuriates him, but he never lets Negan go too far without Rick covering him.

The resentment is obvious. Rick loathes being used as Negan’s pet attack dog, but he does what he has to, for the sake of everyone he cares about. Negan dying would do nothing to improve Alexandria’s situation, and Rick knows that. It’s the first understanding between them that Negan is certain has been set in stone.

There are walkers everywhere outside of the factory, large groups of them, and Rick’s face turns alarmingly pale when Negan sing-songs “Hey, Rick, watch this,” and proceeds to go charging into the thick of it.

Deep down, he trusts Rick to pull himself together enough to fix this mess, but if he doesn’t, Negan’s more than capable of getting himself out alive. That’s not the point. He wants to see the desperation clawing at Rick’s features. Negan wants to know that no matter how little Rick likes him, he knows better than to leave Negan defenseless, knowing there’ll be hell to pay if something happens to him.

It ends in bloodshed, because it always ends in bloodshed. Out of the corner of his eye, Negan can see Rick stumble and cry out as the two of them take care of the last few walkers, their rotting bodies falling heavily to the ground. Negan lets Lucille swing one last time before he regards Rick fully, watching the way he cradles his right arm close to his chest. His hatchet lies discarded on the concrete.

“I knew I could count on you,” Negan chuckles. “Now, what the fuck did you do to your arm?”

Rick’s voice is clipped. “Three of’em against one of me, got...got my arm jammed up against the dumpster. Sprained, at least.”

Negan’s eyebrows shoot up, and he doesn’t miss how Rick’s drawl thickens, how his breath hisses out between his teeth as his voice falters briefly. He’s got to be in agony, but of course he wouldn’t let Negan see it. Rick and his damn pride make one hell of a pair.

He’s been softening, thawing to Negan, but only in fractions. Right now, Rick doesn’t seem inclined to remember who’s in charge, because he spits “If you hadn’t done the stupid shit that you just did, we could’ve avoided this.”

Negan isn’t impressed, but he gets where Rick is coming from. He’s not so much pissed off about Negan’s actions as the consequences, because the two of them are a day’s drive from Alexandria and if trouble comes knocking, Rick’s not going to be much use with one hand out of order.

“Sorry,” Negan says, his voice dismissive, but a slow smirk curls his mouth as he approaches Rick and assesses the situation. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“You can kiss my ass,” Rick snarls, reaching for his hatchet, then seems to rethink his words and holds his good hand out towards Negan, wincing and keeping him at a distance. “Don’t. Just...don’t.”

“But you make it so fucking easy,” Negan points out, and counts it as a win when the stormclouds in Rick’s eyes fade and eventually perish.

-

Rick’s beard is making a reappearance, and it’s returning with a vengeance.

Negan can’t say that he minds, initially. Rick wears it well, but with his hand in a cast, Negan supposes Rick hasn’t been able to keep it trimmed since he went and got himself injured. It’s growing wildly, now, beginning to look the way it did on that tape, and Negan is struck by the impulse to see Rick bare-faced, his cheeks and sculpted jaw smooth and pink.

Not that he’s not fucking pretty, otherwise, but Negan knows all about layers. He’d like to strip away some of Rick’s and see him vulnerable.

Putting men on their knees is easy. Shit, making them weep like babies is easy, but making them do all the heavy lifting and willingly exposing their weaknesses-? That’s another thing. That’s something he hasn’t gotten from Rick, yet, and he’s determined to have it at any cost.

If nothing else, Negan’s going to have fun with it. There are so many ways to put cracks in Rick’s already weakened veneer. The possibilities for shattering Rick are endless, but brute force isn’t going to do it.

Men like Rick can survive pain. Negan has to go down another path to get what he wants.

-

Rick’s throat is beautiful and bared to Negan’s eyes. He can see every minute twitch; Rick swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs beneath the surface of tendon and skin. The veins stand out in stark relief, and Negan knows how damn easy it would be to accidentally angle his wrist just so, leaving Rick bleeding out across the pristine tiles.

“Relax, Rick,” Negan tells him, as if Rick has any other choice. “Wouldn’t want you fidgeting, making my hand slip.”

Rick’s glare burns into him as Negan catches his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. It’s a heady rush of power, seeing himself standing behind Rick, looming over him, hands at Rick’s throat. Bodies are fragile; they’re easy to take apart, and Rick’s refusal to give in is half the thrill. It means Negan has to push harder and harder with every attempt, but he doesn’t want pain to be what breaks Rick. That can’t be what convinces him.

“Tell me, Rick,” Negan says, “Your wife ever do this for you?”

That elegant jaw tenses. Rick must be considering not telling him the truth, but eventually, his tongue loosens up. He ducks his head, scowling. “Once,” Rick admits. “A long time ago.”

Negan pictures it: Rick, in his suburban house, his pretty high school sweetheart turned wife swatting at him to make him hold still. He imagines a younger version of Rick smiling, tilting his head for easier access, his wife leaning down for a kiss with the blade at Rick’s throat. Rick wouldn’t have been on guard, the way he is now. He’d be open and trusting.

That’s not the man that Negan has sitting before him, now. Rick is a wary beast, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Negan shattered the illusion of safety Rick was blanketed in long, long ago, but it gives him no pleasure to see Rick wait for what he thinks is the inevitable. Negan is charitable enough to let that scowl go unaddressed, for now.

He steps in front of Rick, turning on the faucet, humming to himself and shooting Rick a grin when the man’s gaze follows his every move, keeping track of where Negan’s hands are going and what they’re reaching for. For now, he’s content to soak a towel in hot water and press it against Rick’s face, softening the skin. He wonders if he’ll have the luxury of seeing Rick blush, after he’s through.

Negan soaks the brush, next, then takes care of the shaving cream, relishing in the anxiety he can feel coming off of Rick. That’s the best part about this: a blatant threat would’ve had Rick snapping his jaws at him, but something so veiled in pleasantries is putting Rick off his game, making him twitch and fidget. “Hold still,” Negan instructs, then begins to lather Rick’s face.

His beard is bristly. Negan’s fingers almost get stuck, for a second, before he yanks and gets free. It’d be best to do this thing standing in front of Rick, but it won’t be as much fun as doing it from behind, making Rick watch in the mirror.

Negan looks Rick’s face over, nodding. “Let's get this fucking show on the road,” he chuckles, tilting Rick’s head back.

The handle of the razor is warm in his hand. Rick’s reflection glints briefly in it, then disappears, and he holds his breath as Negan makes the first stroke, the sharp metal gliding from just below Rick’s ear to the hinge of his jaw. The glide is smooth; the skin revealed in its wake is smoother.

After a while, Rick almost relaxes into it, but Negan can’t have that.

“Your wife. She have a soft touch?” Negan asks, bringing the razor to Rick’s throat, sighing as Rick flinches and tries to inch backwards in the chair. It’s an exercise in futility. He’s not going anywhere. “Don’t make me force it out of you, Rick. Tell me about your wife.”

He’s played this angle with Carl, already, but Negan’s not satisfied. The kid is Rick’s weakness, and after smelling blood in the water with Carl’s singing, Negan suspects that Rick’s late wife might be his kryptonite.

“She…”

Rick’s voice is soft. It hardens into steel soon enough. Negan would be disappointed if Rick caved this early into the game. “She was beautiful,” Rick tells him, which Negan expected. “And she was kind.”

There’s a hitch in Rick’s voice. “She was kind,” he repeats, “Mostly.”

It grieves him to say it, Negan can see that plain as day. Speaking ill of the dead tears at Rick, but he knows he won’t get away with half-truths, and Negan waits for him to spill his guts and tear himself open for Negan’s pleasure.

“Of course she was,” Negan chuckles. “You’d like’em sweet, wouldn’t you? Of course she’d be some pretty little thing, making cookies while you were bringing home the bacon. Your wife, she love you?”

“Did yours?” Rick snaps, and Negan’s hands twitch.

He tilts his head slowly, bringing the razor closer and closer to Rick’s skin. The slide of the blade is sharp and precise; he nicks the skin enough to draw a rivulet of blood, and Rick hisses through his teeth before clenching his jaw shut, his face grim.

“We’re not talking about me,” Negan finally says. “You only get one warning, Rick. Don’t fucking try that shit again. Here I thought we’d have an opportunity to bond, but you just can’t help yourself, can you? Mouthing off like that is gonna get you in trouble, mark my fucking words.”

Rick’s a glutton for punishment, it seems, because he keeps pushing. “Did she?” he asks again, but without the venom from before. Now, he sounds curious, maybe even intrigued, and Negan offers him a flat look that tells Rick he better shut his mouth, _now,_ before Negan decides to do it for him.

There’s something about Rick that makes Negan throw logic and sense out the fucking window.

“...’til the end,” Negan concedes. “She loved me ‘til the end, for all the good it did her. That woman had no sense. She was all guts. All heart.”

Rick’s not quite smiling, but his mouth twitches. It tells Negan that he relates, on some level, which is information more valuable than gold, these days.

“Yeah,” Rick breathes, dipping his head, absently bringing his fingers to the cut on his throat. The blood isn’t flowing, exactly, but it hasn’t slowed yet. “Sounds about right.”

It’s almost sentimental, if not for the self-loathing that caresses Negan’s ear like an old lover. He recognizes that, too. There are similarities between him and Rick that run so damn deep it took him a long time to uncover them, and he doubts Rick can see it, himself. His world is still black and white. Nothing can exist between him and Negan other than animosity; that’s how Rick’s mind works.

Negan’s mouth purses, but he grins at Rick in the silence that settles between them. It’s almost comfortable, if not for Rick’s distrust still showing in his eyes. “Enough about me,” Negan declares, tilting Rick’s head back, tugging lightly on his hair to get him positioned the way Negan wants him. The blade keeps gliding across Rick’s skin smoothly. “Let me ask you something, Rick.”

He works at a slow pace, dragging this out for the simple pleasure of seeing Rick squirm in his grasp, the cracks showing in his armor already. “You ever strayed?”

“What?”

Negan’s smirk is damn near obscene. He sees Rick catch on, stubbornly jutting his chin out as he spits a vehement _“No,”_ but Negan gets the feeling that it’s not the end of the story.

“She did, huh?”

Rick’s hands curl into fists atop his thighs. “Figures,” Negan chuckles, “You too much of a goody-two-shoes for your lady, Rick? She get bored of you, look for something a little kinkier? Man, that must’ve sucked,” he adds, his voice soft. “Me, personally, I get it. Every woman I did on the side was a fucking wildcat. Who’d she go for, Rick?”

Rick’s breath comes out strangled. Negan almost feels bad for asking.

“...best friend,” Rick confesses, his eyes squeezed shut. “She thought I hated her, and I let her think that for a long time. She died, thinking that.”

Negan can’t name what compels him to take Rick’s chin in his hand, forcing him to tilt his head back and meet Negan’s eyes. The damnedest thing is blossoming in his chest: a strange sort of pity, because Negan doesn’t want Rick shattered. Bent, but not broken.

“Hey, now,” he chuckles, “Leave that shit in the past, Rick. Your lady’s not here, is she? It’s just me and you. Get her out of your head.”

Not an easy task, Negan knows. It’s a daunting one, even, but he fully expects Rick to obey.

Belatedly, Negan realizes that Rick’s throat and jaw are already finished. All that’s left are his cheeks and chin, and Negan keeps stalling. Keeps digging for buried truths as he works on Rick’s beard, slowly revealing smooth skin, inch by inch. He looks fucking fragile, his naked face soft and pale, the skin so breakable. It would only take the slightest pressure of teeth to leave a bruise that would last.

Rick’s got scars on his face Negan couldn’t see with that fucking beard, and his thumb lingers on one of them, near Rick’s ear. It looks nasty, and he figures it might have something to do with the other scar across the bridge of Rick’s nose, but damn, Rick wears it well. He’s a strange amalgamation of contradictions; a gentle man with battle scars, flinching from Negan’s touch while still challenging him.

Licking his lips, holding Rick still, Negan traces the thin scar. Rick gulps, suddenly. The veins in his throat are very, very blue. Beneath them, a pink flush spreads.

Negan frowns, but he doesn’t want Rick seeing it, covering it with a grin. Rick’s shifting restlessly, continuing to twitch from the razor and Negan’s hands on his face, and it makes him seem oddly vulnerable, far removed from the wild-eyed man snarling in his face. Whatever peace they’ve established between them is breaking right alongside Rick’s pride.

His seduction isn’t subtle. Negan knows how to push Rick’s buttons.

Rick’s hands are in his lap, and something suddenly _clicks._ Rick’s tense posture has fuck-all to do with fear. Negan watches the flush climb up the length of Rick’s throat, then starts to laugh, barely containing himself from doubling over, but this is too perfect. It’s too fucking perfect.

He didn’t see it coming. Hoped for it, definitely, but he didn’t think Rick would break so easily, but then he wonders how long it’s been since Rick knew a gentle touch, a loving touch. It stirs something in his stomach, wondering if Rick’s submitting only because his body is desperate for an intimacy Negan can’t offer. He can’t linger on those thoughts, and the grin that stretches his mouth is mirthful.

“I’ll be damned,” Negan purrs, “You getting off on this, Rick?”

He’s poking at something dangerous, but Negan’s not inclined to stop. He’s torn between the desire to see Rick get in his face, and the desire to see Rick avoid his eyes. Both would be a fucking delight.

The look in Rick’s eyes toes the line between apprehension and defiance, and Negan can’t say that he minds. Rick challenging him outside of this room, right here and now, that shit wouldn’t fly, but Negan’s heart would fucking break if Rick just rolled over without a fight. The bravado gets his blood pumping faster.

He’s never been gentle with Rick. The first time they fought and then fucked, Rick had been shaken afterwards. He hadn’t been able to face Negan, or maybe it was his own weakness he was disgusted by, but since then, Rick’s been twitchy around Negan, watching him for any signs of a repeat performance, shying away from any attempts on Negan’s part. This is the sweetest thing he could ask for: Rick having to admit to wanting it.

“What is this?” Rick finally fires back, shaking off Negan’s attempts at humiliation. He rises out of the chair without warning, whirling to face Negan, his back against the sink. The momentum makes the razor cut into his arm, brief but sharp, and there’s little droplets of blood falling to the floor, glinting like rubies scattered across the tiles. Rick’s face is clean-shaven; Negan had barely noticed he’d finished the job, but Rick’s bare face is the prettiest thing he’s laid eyes on in years. “This what you were hoping for? Something else to hold over my head?”

“I’m not holding shit over your head,” Negan counters, “You’re the one making mountains out of fucking molehills. What’s the matter, Rick?” he grins, crowding Rick back against the sink, eyes darkening as Rick goes without complaint; seething, but docile. “Didn’t I take care of you, last time?”

There it is, the flash of thunder he’s been looking for. Rick’s eyes are pale and sharp and drop-dead gorgeous, blazing with anger. Negan revels in it, and when his hand moves to Rick’s throat, his fingers come away stained with blood and shaving cream. He smears Rick’s skin with it, a primal mark of possession.

Because Rick belongs to him, no matter how little he accepts it, and Negan wants to make that crystal fucking clear.

“Why,” Rick snarls, his teeth sharp under the bright lights, “Is it always about control with you? Why can’t you leave it alone?”

Negan wonders about what Rick wants. Wonders if, given the opportunity, Rick would whisper _please, just for one night, will you lie down next to me, we can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned-up._ It’s a fantasy he likes to entertain, but not one likely to come true.

His eyes harden. Negan’s expression morphs into something verging on disappointment. “Rick,” he scoffs, “I don’t want anything from you other than the fucking truth. You’re the one that’s pussyfooting around it.”

“And the truth is…?” Rick demands, watching as Negan picks up the razor, not making a move to back away when Negan brings it to his face again. The sharp edge lingers on the corner of Rick’s mouth, then makes a cut; the blood wells to the surface, coating Rick’s lower lip, and his tongue darts out to catch the droplet, eyes still locked on Negan’s.

“The truth is,” he whispers, “That you fucking like me owning you. Using you. Treating you like a bitch.”

A harsh shudder runs through Rick, all the way up his spine. “Shut your mouth,” he hisses, yanking at Negan’s hair. He tastes blood when Rick drags him in for a kiss, their hips aligning, their bodies colliding; an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

Rick’s hard against his hip. Negan wonders, sometimes, if Rick actually _does_ get off on the pain and the humiliation, or if it’s down to something as simple as a warm body against his own, but he doesn’t get to think too hard on that one. Rick’s whispering harsh demands against his mouth, his blood behind Negan’s teeth, staining them both. “You’re gonna fuck me,” Rick grits out, “Right here. You’re not going to hold back,” he groans, and Negan doesn’t need more convincing than that.

It’s cute, the way Rick thinks he’s in control. Negan can let him have that, for now.

He thinks of all the bodies that came before Rick, and he thinks about Rick’s obsession with pain, the way he seems to think that if Negan hurts him, Rick can’t be blamed for giving in. He seems to think that if he grins and bears it, he won’t have to carry the weight of his own fucked-up need on his shoulders, anymore, but he’s wrong.

“Jesus, Rick,” Negan hisses, because Rick’s hand is in his jeans, stroking his cock, frenzied and single-mindedly desperate. “Is there anything you wouldn’t fucking let me do to you, right now?”

Quietly, Rick says “One thing,” and doesn’t elaborate, but Negan doesn’t need him to. Rick’s never wanted his gentleness, even when Negan’s fucking offered, and if this is how it’s always going to be between them, Negan will take what he can get. He’ll get through to Rick, some day.

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Negan groans, and he gets Rick turned around so abruptly that Rick’s forehead smacks against the mirror and then slides down, his body bent over the sink and trembling. He makes a throaty noise, hands gripping the counter, his knuckles bloodless with strain. If Negan gave him a concussion, Rick’s not making a fuss, and he shoves Rick’s shirt up all the way to his armpits in order to fasten his mouth to Rick’s top vertebrae, the vulnerable jut of it practically begging to be bruised.

Rick doesn’t speak - not with words, at least, but his back arches and his head lowers and Negan whispers “I’ll give it to you the way you want it, Rick,” before sealing his mouth over Rick’s skin and biting down, tongue soothing the wound. Rick’s hands are trembling where they’re curled around the edge of the counter, and he makes a noise so high Negan almost doesn’t realize it’s coming from him until he feels Rick’s back vibrate with it, a pleading quality to the thin keen that pierces his ears. He keeps making Rick bleed, and his teeth have broken the skin.

He keeps making Rick _hurt,_ and it’s both frustrating and incredible, having that sort of power over a man who refuses to bend to Negan’s will. Where Rick gives an inch, there’s still a mile left to cover.

“Sometimes, Rick,” Negan snarls, “You get under my fucking skin.”

“Why don’t you hurry on up,” Rick chuckles - fucking _chuckles,_ of all things, as if he has the upper hand - and says “-and get under mine?”

His hand is nothing short of brutal when it slides into Rick’s hair and yanks, forcing Rick’s spine into a helpless bow of pain and discomfort, shoving Rick’s hips against the counter, pushing his cock up against the unforgiving marble. “C-careful,” Rick stutters, but with a thread of satisfaction to his voice that makes Negan’s fucking pulse jump. “You cut me enough for one day.”

Negan is suddenly struck by the realization that Rick’s going to be wearing scars that Negan gave him, that he _wanted_ his skin marked, and Negan has to adjust himself in his jeans at that revelation. Rick’s fucked in the head, and Negan is never going to want anything as much as he wants Rick’s twisted need.

He shuts himself up, because now is the time to focus on Rick’s responses, on his labored breathing and his trembling frame. Negan makes quick work of Rick’s jeans, his underwear, and then his own. He takes pleasure in the fact that while Rick’s bent over and panting and undressed, all Negan does is unzip and push up against Rick’s body, feeling him tremble and gasp.

“You,” Negan whispers, “Are a hot fucking mess, you know that?”

He thinks about all the glances Rick shoots him when he thinks Negan isn’t looking, and he thinks about the time he fucked Rick in the back of a truck, how Rick had practically spit fire until Negan had pinned his hips and snarled _fucking let go, already_ and how Rick had stiffened under his touch before melting. He needs a rough hand to guide him, to soothe him; Negan’s cruelty is going to be what pushes him, but his gentleness will be what tips Rick over the breaking point.

“You know who you belong to,” Negan hisses, rough fingers wrapping around Rick’s cock and stroking. “You know who _this_ belongs to. Say it, Rick.”

Rick shakes his head, tearing at the edges. “Say it,” Negan demands, “God damn it, Rick, give me _something!”_

A part of Negan needs to hear it to prove he’s not a fucking animal, that he’s not taking advantage of a mind so damaged it’d let someone like Negan crawl inside of him and take up space. He needs to hear Rick say it as much as Rick needs to admit it.

“You,” he chokes out, his body jerking and then shuddering when Negan splits Rick open on two spit-slick fingers. It’s not nearly fucking enough, but when Rick keeps rejecting his attempts at tenderness, Negan doesn’t argue. “God, _fuck,_ you, it belongs to you, I belong to you-”

There’s blood trailing from Rick’s chin and into the sink, leaving red blemishes across the porcelain, staining it forever with evidence of this bestial thing that keeps happening between them. “One day,” Negan vows, twisting his fingers, watching the muscles in Rick’s back tense and then quiver, “I’m going to spread you out on my nice sheets, Rick, take my fucking time. I’ll make you scream,” he promises. “I’ll make you forget. The only thing you’re gonna know is my fucking name.”

Rick’s hands twitch, and then convulse; he’s trembling all over, from the fucking inside, tight and hot and velvet-smooth around Negan’s fingers, pushed deep and possessive, and Negan aches with the thought that they want too much from each other, that they want things too different to line up, and there’s never a fucking right time to make Rick see things his way, but he folds over Rick’s shuddering body and whispers “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? You’re gonna take everything I give you and you’re gonna be fucking grateful for it, too, because nobody else can do this for you, Rick. Am I right?”

He grins, hearing Rick gasp, feeling him tense around the stretch of Negan’s fingers. “Nobody else can make you hate yourself so goddamn much,” Negan groans, his hand on the back of Rick’s neck, forcing his face right up against the cracked mirror, making him look. “And nobody makes it feel so fucking good, letting it go. Tell me I’m wrong, Rick.”

He knows he’s not, and it almost pains Negan, hearing Rick’s garbled confession, his voice worn away to nothing when he whispers “There’s only you,” in a tone that suggests he’s near tears. “There’s only you.”

Negan holds him down and fucks him. Knowing Rick needs the pain is a powerful fucking aphrodisiac, and sometimes Negan imagines crossing the line, hurting Rick until he’s spitting blood, but while Rick’s the temptation itself, he’s also the voice of reason that pulls Negan back from that place of dark obsession and deep-seated possessiveness that lives in his bones.

“You’re gonna come,” Negan grunts, his hips bruising Rick’s ass every time he pulls out and slams back inside, hell-bent on leaving Rick a tender mess, “Just like this, Rick, ‘cause if you don’t…”

He squeezes the base of Rick’s cock and feels his body tremble and clench in response, a ragged moan torn from Rick’s throat. “‘cause if you don’t, you’re not touching this cock until I say so. And believe me, Rick, I’m not letting you off easy.”

Rick’s whining, making noises Negan’s never heard in his fucking life, and his ass is tight and fucking _exquisite_ around Negan’s cock, like Rick was made for him, put on this hellish earth for Negan’s pleasure, and he groans at the thought, thrusting harder, grinding as deep as he can go when Rick pants and reaches a hand backwards to fist in Negan’s hair. “You like that?” Negan grins, staying deep, moving in shallow thrusts he knows must be tantalizing. “I could do this all fucking day.”

Rick’s hand slides lower, finding its way beneath Negan’s shirt. The sudden scrape of nails makes him jump, because Rick’s drawing blood and clawing welts into Negan’s skin, and he groans _“Motherfucker,”_ just as Rick’s gulping in a deep breath, laughing softly.

He’s close. Negan can feel it; Rick’s pulse beneath his tongue, his cock heavy in Negan’s fist, ass tightening with each thrust, Rick’s whole body trembling helplessly. “Gonna mark you up,” Negan snarls, “Not gonna fucking let you shower, Rick, make you go out there and show everyone who the fuck you belong to - shit, I’ll parade you around town to beat it into your fucking skull who you belong to, who makes you come, who makes you _free-”_

In the mirror’s reflection, Negan sees Rick bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and Rick’s cock pulses in his fist; once, twice, and then Rick’s keening, spitting blood into the sink, his come streaking against the porcelain and the marble, his knees giving out as Negan steadies him.

That’s all it takes: the sight of Rick undone before him and his body trembling around him is all it takes for Negan to slam deep and groan, his orgasm hitting him like a fucking freight train.

“Next time,” Negan rasps, in the immediate aftermath, his forehead resting against the back of Rick’s neck, “Don’t fucking make me hurt you.”

Rick’s got a half-smile curving his mouth, exhausted and content. “Next time,” he says, his voice shredded, “Don’t make me want you to.”

“Next time,” Negan repeats, scowling, “Fucking ask me, first. Don’t goad me into this shit.”

Rick’s moving beneath him, flushed all over, filthy with blood and come. It’s been a long time since Negan’s wanted to tear Rick apart, and between the first time and now, too much has happened for him to risk everything going to shit because Rick didn’t know what he was asking for. When Negan pushes, Rick pushes back, and it’s infuriating. It’s thrilling, in the most carnal sense, to have Rick at his mercy, but the first time Rick needed Negan, he asked.

He’s got to learn to do that more often. “Get yourself cleaned up,” Negan mutters, drawing back, refusing to wince from the sight of Rick’s battered body. He knew this was a long time coming, Rick storing all the resentment and frustration until it inevitably boiled over, but Negan knows what part he played. This isn’t what he expected to happen, today, but as long as Rick’s more or less intact, he knows he didn’t make a huge fucking mistake.

“Hey,” Rick says, frowning, having turned around on unsteady legs and buttoned his jeans. “It has to be you. You get that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Negan agrees. “Who the fuck else would be up for practically brutalizing you?”

Rick’s eyes harden, and he snatches Negan’s arm in an iron grip, surprisingly strong for a guy who just had his brains fucked out. “No,” he says. “There’s nobody else who’d know where to stop.”

Negan considers that, eyes wandering across Rick’s body. Their arrangement has been working out, so far, and he can’t deny that he likes taking Rick to the edge and back. “Why?” Negan questions, laughing. “Because you trust me?”

“Because we’re the same,” Rick corrects, digging his thumb into the welts he left, scored into Negan’s hip. He hisses, chasing the contact, then scowls at Rick’s bitter smile.

“You’re no good,” Rick tells him, his words very soft. “But I’m no better.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Please,  
> just for one night, will you lie down next to me, we can leave our clothes on,  
> we can stay all buttoned-up…  
> or will I say
> 
> Roll over and let me fuck you till you puke, Henry, you owe me this much, you can indulge me
> 
> this at least, can’t you?" - Richard Siken, Wishbone.


End file.
